When in Italy, I love to have a pizza in a decent and original pizzeria. At least once a week. Only once though, because Italy offer a lot of other exciting and wonderful food. Little did I know that this obsession for pizzas was to confront me with fraud, persecutions and political killings... It all happened on the day of the hangovers for young socialists, especially this year since the 2nd of May occured on a Saturday. Giacomo could not be called "young", but was marked by the hangover when I met him. Despite the hangover - or because of his situation, he turned out to be most helpful.
As a matter of fact I at first adressed myself to a young couple sitting on a wall above a completely empty beach in spite of a warm afternoon in Savona on the Ligurian coast.
"A pizzeria of special interest?" While each of the two tried some suggestions at the other, a man's voice suddently came from behind: "Interesting pizzeria, signore? One with an ambiance beyond belief! Maybe you'll want to visit the one with Europe's most spectacular exterior and Italy's most unexpected interior?"
Well, why not? It was just a question of a meal while I had a day off from my work in Nice. And whatever this pizzeria turned out to be, I was rarely disappointed by a pizza in Italy. So, naturally I was interested, without telling him. Just nodded my head to get more news about this most spectacular and unexpected pizzeria.
"We'll have to go to San Remo," the Italian told me. I could not help distrusting him for his evident signs of celebration from the previous day, thinking of con men chasing easy victims. Obviously he understood my hesitation, offered his hand and presented himself as "Giacomo", even apologizing for his appearance. Very unconvencional for a person belonging to the young socialists, I managed to think before he promised not to take advantage of any kind if I agreed to join him. If the sight he promised, displeaced me - he would just leave me with no more expences than the fare from Savona to San Remo. A return fare would be his for the shame of duping me. Not a huge amount going by train from Savone to San Remo, since the distance was hardly more than 90-100 kilometers - besides, it was in "my" direction, and I had a day-return-ticket. In San Remo I would be almost two thirds way back home.
Since I still had not agreed to join him, he continued to impress me. If I - on the other hand - enjoyed the place, and that was completely to my liking, maybe he deserved a reward? A pizza to accompany me and the fare back to Savona? From my experiences of buying second hand cars, this seemed like a decent agreement. We shook hands.
During the voyage I asked Giacomo about San Remo, since I originally had thought to go there and not all the way to Savona this Saturday. He was a high-spirited, if not smashing, company, my Giacomo. He happened to know San Remo quite well, and promised me I would write home about this trip and my encounter with his "White Lady" - as he called the pizzeria, which name started to make me suspicious. I tried to let him talk about himself, but at once he started questioning me, as a much more interesting person. The little he said about himself was only words telling me nothing, and this was not due to lacking knowledge of Italian.
When we arrived in San Remo, I reminded him of his promises that I certainly would like to write home about this exceptional event. If he really made my day, I also wanted to send himself a card of gratitude later on. "Fantastico! How nice!" he smiled - until I told him that I needed an adress and his family name.
"Family name?" It sounded as this was something so very uncommon among his acquaintances, he might have forgotten it. "Ah, naturalmente, signore... scusi, scusi! My name is Giacomo Matteotti... but, scusi... there is a friend of mine. I'll have to give him a message, but you just go on to the first corner of the street. There to the right, you'll have your delight! I'll follow in a minute."
He pointed down the left part of the street outside the station, once again promising he would follow "subito". Since I was more curious about the pizzeria than this friend selling newpapers on the opposite side of the street, I went along to the corner where I was supposed to discover my pizzeria - when I suddenly started to reflect on his family name Matteotti. It was familiar in some way! My thoughts were disrupted by the sight of the "White Lady"! "Europe's most spectacular exterior and Italy's most unexpected interior!" Indeed - he kept his word, in some way...
Giacomo also kept another part of his promises. He had disappeared. Suddently - as if he had never existed outside my own fantasy. I went back to his friend with the newspapers. This friend knew nobody named Giacomo, but had just been talking to Franco, a fellow from somewhere in the old town. Franco had asked if he had some lire to lend him (this was in the 1990s) because Franco had spent all his money on drinks and women the day before...
Well, then...
I returned to the "White lady". It was indeed a pizzeria... under a rose coulored cupola surrounded by
After all, I was hungry. This white lady might at least produce a pizza in spite of its "most unexpected interior", which reminded me more of a public hall in the countryside where we used to dance in my youth. I crossed the corso in front of the Lady and climbed the stairs. In vain! She was chaste as the church above her, this Lady. Closed until seven in the evening...
I sat down on the stairs. Looking around the corso. Maybe I could discover another pizzeria along the road where the cars moved at a snail's pace. The rushhour after the siesta had started.
Across the corso - above the cars, I could read a street sign on the wall of the corner house: "Giacomo Matteotti: 1885-1924." He had been really subsistent, "my" Giacomo! I had been brought to a street named after the perhaps most celebre victim of fascist terror before the Second World War: The young socialist, Giacomo Matteotti, who was elected member of the Italian Chamber of Deputies, and even leader of the United Socialist Party. He tried to disclose the plans of Mussolini how to turn the National assembly into a playground for his own followers. And for once, Mussolini kept his promise. The Chamber was completely crowded by the Fascists. The young Matteotti revealed in a book how they gained this objective by fraud, violence and threats. The Fascists did not allow anyone to tell the world about their terror. They kidnapped Matteotti and killed him. A murder that caused international indignation. Mussolini had to admit the creation of his dictatorship behind a poor appearances of democracy, by an absurd election - and in collaboration with the Vatican.
Above me and the "White lady" there was a monument of other refugees from a dictatorship, this one of communist terror. "My" Giacomo had brought me to a intersection between the ravage of fascist and communist brutality. I was almost about to forgive him his swindle - if it was not for the loss of a pizza.
Yours Thor Thorstensen
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